


it's us (that made this mess)

by maeruth



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Choking, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Friends With Benefits, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Spit As Lube, Whump, also one sided shukita, pwease read the tags this is icky, slight royal spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:15:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23758960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maeruth/pseuds/maeruth
Summary: Jealousy is familiar to Akechi, practically a comfort at this point. It gnawed at him for a large portion of his life and continues to eat away at him, his mind a never-ending flow ofI have to be stronger than him, smarter than her, prettier than them, better better better than any of them.Thus, the rage that momentarily sparks in him when he's suddenly rejected isn’t foreign. He welcomes it.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 3
Kudos: 114





	it's us (that made this mess)

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this at beginning the third semester, but I just finished the game and now I need to get this out so I can write Wholesome shuake 
> 
> heed the tags, read at ur own risk!

_I’ve put the past behind me,_ he remembered saying to the others with a bitter smile, _we have a common goal, after all._ And they did, they were in this together at this point, which was fine. Akechi could deal. He knew how to bite his tongue and show some restraint around them. It was different now, since they knew his true nature, but he still couldn’t _completely_ let loose. Appearances had to be kept up somewhat. 

It was just when he had Akira alone that he couldn’t keep the facade up. His walls dropped down, mask torn off and hands all over him in an instant. 

Their agreement ended up extending outside of Maruki’s palace and into the attic space. Akechi tested the waters first, dropped subtle hints that he knew Akira would pick up on. Offered something that he knew he wasn’t getting from a certain Kosei student. It was a low blow, but he needed to initiate things somehow, and the pathetic longing looks and dreamy sighs were becoming too irritating to ignore. Akechi’s patience had worn thin and was threatening to snap at any moment, but he wouldn’t have any objections to taking it out on Akira. 

Which is where they found themselves, eventually. 

Akechi didn’t have to hide when he was with Akira. He could let loose and Akira wouldn’t object, just act as something for Akechi to take his frustrations out on. Almost _happy_ to oblige, even if he didn’t put very much effort into it. Akechi preferred it this way; taking charge came naturally to him. Akira may be revered as the leader of their thief group, but here, he was completely stripped of that title. He was just a _thing_ for Akechi to use, and vice versa. 

Things never went too far— at first. 

The first time Akira says “stop”, it comes out so quiet that Akechi almost doesn’t catch it. Then again, louder, followed by a gasp. Akechi’s lips falter, but were on his throat again as if nothing was said. 

Hands push at his shoulders. “Stop, stop, I— I don’t want to do this.” 

“Is there a particular _reason?”_ Akechi growls out, nipping at his neck. 

Akira’s hands stay on his shoulders, but he isn’t pushing him away anymore. When he doesn’t say anything for a few moments, Akechi makes a noise of frustration and knocks his hands away, their lips colliding roughly. It’s all teeth and tongue, because he wasn’t going to waste time with pretty kisses on him. 

“We have a _deal.”_ He says, irritation beginning to seep into his voice. Getting cold feet _now_ of all times was just pathetic. They might as well see this thing through to the end. 

Suddenly, that fire Akira only displayed in the Metaverse comes out in the form of a rough shove, hard enough to knock Akechi away from where he had him caged against the wall. 

He wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his school blazer. “And I’m _ending_ our deal.”

“Why?”

“I don’t need a reason. This is over.”

Akechi’s fingers twitch, an ugly anger beginning to bubble inside of him. He keeps a lid on it for now, trying to meet Akira with an even gaze. “I know you’ve been enjoying this. Perhaps even more than myself.”

“Yeah, well. Things change.”

But _why?_

Akechi wants to scream. He settles for running a hand through his hair, sighing melodramatically. _“What_ changed?”

Akira scoffs. “I don’t have to tell you.”

A beat of silence, then Akechi finds himself laughing. “Don’t tell me that oblivious idiot actually noticed you. Choosing him over me, are you? Tossing me aside for fresh meat?”

Jealousy is familiar to him, practically a comfort at this point. It gnawed at him for a large portion of his life and continues to eat away at him, his mind a never-ending flow of _I have to be stronger than him, smarter than her, prettier than them, better better better than any of them._ Thus, the rage that momentarily sparks in him isn’t foreign. He welcomes it. 

Akira doesn’t answer right away, just glares. If the fire in his eyes burn any brighter they might catch on fire. Akechi couldn’t get enough of it. He wants that stare on him forever, burning holes into him until there was nothing left. 

“Just leave, Akechi.” 

Leaving is the last thing Akechi has on his agenda that evening. This complicates things, but Akechi isn’t one to back down from a challenge. The hatred in Akira’s eyes is too addicting to leave. 

“No,” he says, “I don’t think I will, just yet.”

He lunges for him. 

Akira is quick to react, struggling to keep Akechi’s hands away and off of his body. This elicits a laugh, deranged and hungry, from the brunet, who’s gotten him back up against the wall of the attic. Despite being exhausted from dungeon crawling earlier than afternoon, Akira puts him quite the fight - until Akechi gets a hold on his hair and slams his head into the wall hard enough to hear a brief _crack_ and his vision swims. 

Once his movements grow sluggish, Akechi pounces on the opportunity. Akira’s on his back in an instant, legs pried apart and gaze unfocused. Akechi grabs his face roughly with one hand, forcing him to look at him. 

“I’m not going to let you _use_ me and dispose of me so quickly,” He says, grinding his hips against Akira’s. “If anyone is going to be used, it’s _you.”_

“Don’t, Akechi,” Akira’s words are slurred, running into and over each other. Tears began beading in the corners of his eyes. “Stop, _stop,_ Akechi—”

He didn’t want to stop, turns a blind eye to the tears and tuned out the _stop it stop it stop it_ leaving his mouth and focused on how pretty he looked with his hand around his neck, cutting off his useless begging with just a little _squeeze_. He isn’t even using his full strength and he already had Akira reduced to a writhing, crying mess. 

“You sound _prettier_ than usual,” Akechi laughs again, sliding two fingers into Akira’s mouth. “You still want this, don’t you?” 

Akira gags around his fingers— too far too far too _deep_ — but Akechi keeps his head in place. Akechi is in no kind mood to waste time for proper lubricant, so this is for his own benefit, anyways. He must realize that somewhere in his foggy mind, because he suddenly tries to put effort into slicking his fingers. 

Akechi doesn’t wait for long, having pulled his checkered uniform pants down along with this boxers while Akira sucked and licked at the digits. Their earlier struggle had riled him up and he was more than ready to start, replaying the way Akira’s eyes went unfocused after being slammed against the wall. The pain was beginning to wear off, and he knew this, of course. Akira always bounces back rather quickly, which is what made their games so fun. He knows how to keep up. 

So when he starts struggling, going so far as to manage a scratch across Akechi’s cheek, the brunet practically howls with laughter. 

“Still got some fight in you, after all!” He touches his cheek, fingertips coming back red. The sight sends shivers up his spine, and he lands a blow across Akira’s face, fist colliding hard with his nose. “I think I need to restrain this _dog.”_

Akechi is quick in removing his belt, fastening his belt around his wrists, making sure to buckle it extra tight to bruise. A reminder to haunt him later, an inconvenience he’ll need to cover up lest someone from the group asks him about it. The thought of one of those idiots asking Akira to explain made him practically _giggle._

Akira stiffens against Akechi’s fingers, prodding at his entrance before being shoved all the way in up to the knuckle. Akechi knows it must be uncomfortable, if the wince that flashes across his face is anything to go by. He wants to see it again and again and _again,_ so he pumps his fingers in and out roughly, curling and dragging his nails along the walls. 

Another pathetic stream of _stop stop no more stop!_ tumbles from his lips in a choked sob, legs beginning to tremble. Akechi only grins and dips down to press a chaste kiss to Akira’s cheek, not letting up his pace.

“I think I might prefer you like this,” he says, nuzzling the crook of his neck, “Such an obedient little _dog_. I suppose you and that stupid Fox go well together, after all.”

Akira shakes his head, turning away from his touch. “Please, _stop_ this, this isn’t— this isn’t you, Akechi.”

“Oh, but _isn’t_ it?” Akechi pulls his fingers away, wiping them on Akira’s bare thigh before undoing the button and zipper to his own pants. His cock twitches at the sight of Akira’s expression— glassy eyes blown wide, nose beginning to leak with blood from the earlier punch. “Maybe you’ve deluded yourself into thinking I’m anything _but_ this.”

He aligns himself, the stream of protests growing louder and more desperate. It’s _music_ to his fucking ears and he presses in so quickly and brutally a moan tears from his throat. The grip he has on Akira’s hips is tight enough to bruise. 

“Stop pretending like you know me, Kurusu,” Akechi says, breathless as he begins setting a rough pace. Akira’s got half of his face buried into his pillow, tears flowing freely down his face. “Stop trying to make me out to be better than I am. I _like_ being this way. Don’t you?”

He isn’t expecting a response, not when he snaps his hips particularly hard and Akira’s eyes screw shut.

More importantly, Akechi realizes with a quick glance towards their joined hips, Akira seems to be enjoying this more than he let on. 

It makes another bout of laughter rush out of Akechi. “You really _are_ a bitch, aren’t you? Getting off in your situation? What would _Yusuke_ think?”

Akira shakes his head again, throws an arm over his eyes. “Don’t— Don’t say his name, not now, _please_ —”

“You’re in no position to be making demands, _dog,”_ Akechi moves his hands to the inside of his knees, folding his legs to push more of his weight down on him. He continues ramming into him mercilessly, nails digging into his skin. “Besides, you think he’ll really touch you after this? Once he finds out you’re nothing but a painslut?”

He isn't sure if his words or thrusts were making him cry harder, but he didn’t care. He wants more more _more_ , more pretty tears and more pathetic begging. Part of Akechi is irritated how despite trying to do nothing but _hurt_ him, Akira finds a way to get something out of it. Couldn’t just lay there and take what’s dealt, always had the upper hand someway, somehow. It makes his blood boil, nails dragging down his thighs hard enough to leave angry, red scratches in their wake. 

Akechi’s hands find themselves winding around Akira’s throat again, pressing the boy down further into the mattress. Akira clamps down wonderfully around his cock, eyes shooting open with a choked gasp. His hands, bound with the leather belt, scratch and tap at his wrists— _one tap to let up, two taps to let go, alright?_ — but Akechi only grins wolfishly and squeezes harder. 

“No one can satisfy you like this, Akira,” He says, blood thrumming in his ears and hips snapping near erratically, “Face it. We’re _perfect_ for each other.”

Akira doesn’t answer, his attempts at removing Akechi’s hands from his throat growing weaker and weaker. He looks wrecked, almost _broken,_ and it’s when his eyes roll into the back of his head that he cums _hard,_ back arching off the bed. It’s enough to send Akechi off the edge, managing a few more thrusts before his grip on Akira’s throat loosens. 

The air is heavy as Akechi pulls out, fixing himself to look at least somewhat presentable. He can’t say the same for Akira, who only manages a weak whimper as he tries to sit up. Blood is still dripping from his nose and onto his lips and chin. 

When Akechi leans down to take his belt back, he pulls him into a brief kiss, just long enough to taste the blood smeared across his lips. 

Akira immediately jerks away, rubbing his sore wrists. Akechi stands back up to his full height, tasting copper. “Well, then. I will see you tomorrow, usual time.” 

Even if Akira had answered, Akechi doesn’t stick around to listen. He’s down the stairs and out the front door, mood considerably higher than it was hours earlier. 

Akechi wonders how Akira will go about hiding the bruises on his neck and wrists for the next few weeks.   
  



End file.
